


The Tale of Prince Charming and the Fairy Godmother

by alrightginger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon male Harry, Cinderella - Freeform, Draco as Prince Charming, Established Friendship, Harry as the Fairy Godmother, I know, M/M, This is my first time not writing fem Harry, but I really enjoyed it, eighth year, play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alrightginger/pseuds/alrightginger
Summary: Draco isn't sure how the Muggle story goes, but he's certain Prince Charming isn't supposed to fall in love with the Fairy Godmother.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 142





	The Tale of Prince Charming and the Fairy Godmother

**Author's Note:**

> So, normally I write a female Harry Potter and as much as I adore her, I adore canon Harry too. I've been wanting to write canon Harry for a while now, and this idea came to me after watching an episode of Fruits Basket. Though it's nothing like the episode of Fruits Basket. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Draco pulls at the material stifling his neck for the thousandth time, suppressing a growl. 

Truthfully, there had been many reservations over returning to Hogwarts to complete his education. There had been the original fear of being a former Death Eater, and walking into the stone walls filled with people who wouldn't want him there. Then there’s the concept of an  _ eighth year.  _

Eighth year isn’t even supposed to exist. It’s entirely made up. He shouldn’t even  _ be  _ at Hogwarts at eighteen.

It felt like charity. 

And Malfoys weren’t ones to accept any sort of charity. 

But Malfoys were also not uneducated, his mother reminded him. 

And so he caved, agreeing that no matter what he has to face, he is strong enough to do so. 

But he hadn’t been expecting  _ this.  _

“What the bloody hell sort of name is  _ Prince Charming,  _ anyway?” Draco snarls, standing. The fake sword sheathed to his side made a pitiful clanging noise. “And why do I have to play the bloke?” 

Granger sighs, not for the first time. 

“Honestly, it’s just a  _ name,”  _ she chides in that way that makes him feel so very below her. “And you have to play him because our class voted for you to have the role.”

Another thing Draco hadn’t expected… Muggle Studies had been made a required class. He hadn’t even known until he had received his schedule. He nearly choked on his eggs that morning. Isn’t it bad enough that he’s being forced to share a dorm with all the other students returning in his year, causing them to intermingle like some sort of charity ball? 

Now he’s being forced into studying something that will in no way benefit him with his chosen career path. Assuming he can even  _ follow _ said career path. That’s another uncertain thing. One he doesn’t care to think about right now. 

The thing he  _ can  _ harp on for a bit though is the fact that Muggle Studies doesn’t seem to be a normal class. It’s far more bent on torturing Draco more than his other studies. 

Why else would they have added the play aspect into the curriculum? 

“I don’t understand  _ why,”  _ Draco presses. Granger meets his pleas with an unimpressed, bored look. It’s rather impressive, honestly. “Why me? Of all people?”

_ Why not Potter? Isn’t he everyone’s first choice for something as stupid as this. That git would love to wield a sword about for class credit.  _

“Could be worse,” an amused voice says. Speak of the devil. Draco turns, arms crossed, to find Potter standing there. Looking utterly  _ ridiculous.  _ “You could be playing the Fairy Godmother.”

Draco can’t help the laugh that bubbles over, though he tries very hard to. He’s trying to turn over a new leaf, so to speak. This includes less poking fun at Potter. Which is unfortunate, because he’s standing there looking  _ completely  _ idiotic in what look like fuchsia colored dress robes, along a ridiculous looking hat that just manages to barely cover his wind blown hair. He deserves to have something crude said about him. 

But, alas, Draco cannot. 

He is striving to be a better man. 

How dreadful.

“I’m assuming if our classmates knew the costume choices, they would have made me the Fairy Godmother,” Draco says. “You would have been more suited for the prince roll anyway.”

Potter’s lips twitch. Draco tries not to pay them any mind. 

“Want to trade?”

“No, I do not. I’d much rather be in these tights than... _ whatever  _ it is you’re being forced into wearing. It looks like it weighs more than the giant squid.”

“Feels like it does too,” Potter says, sighing. The next moment he smiles. Can he never stay melancholy for too long? Does he not know the thrill of brooding? “You pull that outfit off better than I ever could though.”

Draco blushes a furious shade of red. Malfoys shouldn’t blush. He attempts to even out his complexion, finding that he has to look away from Potter to do so. 

“Thanks,” Draco mutters. 

“Alright,” Granger’s voice lifts around them. It’s no shock to anyone when she got the role of stage director. She enjoys cracking her proverbial whip and running the show. “One week to go, people! Let’s pick back up from the first act!”

Draco goes behind their makeshift stage, and tries to collect himself.

* * *

When Draco had agreed to Potter’s request for friendship at the beginning of the school term, he hadn’t expected it to be so difficult. 

Or, more accurately, he  _ had.  _

Just not the ways it is currently proving to be difficult. 

Draco hadn’t expected to enjoy Potter’s company as much as he does. He hadn’t expected to find him as funny as he currently does either. Which is unfortunate, because he’s trying to study his lines for this bloody play he’s going to squander, and Potter is becoming more entertaining by the minute. 

Draco sighs. This wouldn’t be a problem if they had separate dorm rooms, but he’s forced to live alongside Potter now. He’s forced to share a  _ common room _ with him now, and Potter treats it as his very own stage. 

“Draco, hey Draco!” he calls again for the fifth time in as many minutes. Draco pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing he would have told Potter that he isn’t allowed to call him by his first name.

_ “What?” _

“Look!” Potter exclaims, gesturing at his stack of cards that he’s got in the shape of a tower. “I did it! It didn’t collapse this time!”

Draco stares back, fingers curled around his chin, and trying very hard to look unimpressed. In all honesty, he wonders how the idiot did it. 

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to play Exploding Snap.”

Potter rolls his eyes. “I’m not playing Exploding Snap.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “No one will play it with me because they say I cheat. Which isn’t true. If I did, I’d be a lot better at it, I wager.”

Draco looks down at his lines. He really doesn’t have that many. His biggest part is dancing with Cinderella and placing the shoe on Lovegood’s foot when the time came. 

He feels his resolve weaken. 

“Deal the cards, Potter,” he says, tossing the script to the side. “I’ll play you.”

Potter’s eyes brighten. Draco tries to not let it affect him. 

“Really?”

Draco slides onto the floor, sitting across from Potter. 

“Go ahead,” he says. “If you cheat though, I reserve the right to hex you.”

* * *

Draco stood to the side, twirling his plastic sword as he watched Thomas and Finnigan’s attempt at being mice. 

_ Mice.  _

Not just mice, but mice that apparently had a talent for tailoring. Draco watched, bewildered, as the two mice-boys attached a bow to the back of a hideously pink dress.

What kind of play is this?

Who wrote this?

“You know,” Potter’s voice said from beside him. He’s in that ridiculous outfit again. Draco allows himself to look at him from the corner of his eye. “I’m not even sure the original story  _ had  _ mice. I’ve only ever seen bits of the movie. Hermione wrote the script for our version herself. I think she took a lot from the movie. She said the Grimm version was too...well,  _ grim.” _

Draco can’t help but turn to look at Potter now. He knows his expression is anything but composed, and he hates Potter for having this effect on him. 

“What the bloody hell are you talking about? I don’t understand a word you just said!”

Potter smiles. “Are you sure you’re paying attention in Muggle Studies?”

“Of course I am,” Draco snaps back. He is, but not as well as he should be. At least, not if his last two test scores are any indication. He’s relying on this stupid play to bring his grade up in the class. 

“Hmm. I’m not sure I have time to explain everything to you,” Harry says, and Draco follows his gaze to where a weeping Lovegood is gripping tattered garments. “This is my cue, after all. I’d be happy to explain the concept of a movie to you later though.”

Draco blinks.

The way Potter just phrased that…

It sounded like…

“Did you just ask me out?” Draco blurts to Potter’s retreating figure. Luckily Potter is the only one close enough to hear his blunder. 

Potter turns, looking far more fit than should be aloud in the ridiculous getup he’s sporting. 

“Maybe,” he says simply. 

Draco watches Potter go comfort a sniffling Lovegood, placing her head in his lap and forgets about everything else. 

Does he  _ want  _ to go on a date with Potter? It should be concerning how he doesn’t find the idea unappealing, exactly. What would his father say about it? 

Draco shudders. 

Best not give it too much thought, he decides. 

Potter could be joking anyway. He isn’t one to give too much thought into serious matters like asking a bloke out on a date. 

Right? 

Draco nearly misses his entrance cue pondering over it.

* * *

“Come on.” 

Draco looks up from the script to see Potter towering over him. He’s got his coat on like he’s ready to go somewhere. Draco raises an eyebrow at him, remaining in his chair with one leg crossed over the other. 

“Where are you going?” 

“ _ We  _ are going to watch a movie,” Potter corrects. 

Draco feels himself flying into a panic. Perhaps Potter had been serious after all with his request of a date.

“We can’t do that!” he protests, looking around to make sure no one is watching them. “Muggle technology doesn’t even work at Hogwarts! You would need a...tellyvision. Or whatever it’s called.” 

Draco hates that he even knows what the term tellyvision means. He hates even more that he knows the use for one. 

“Television,” Potter corrects kindly. “And it doesn’t work here, but it works in other places.”

“Like where?”

“Grimmauld Place for one. It’s where I stay when I’m not here.”

“Your godfather’s house?” Draco questions, raising an eyebrow. “The old House of Black?” 

Potter grins. “The one and only.”

“You brought muggle technology into the Black household? I bet old Walburga loved that.”

“She screamed at me at first,” Potter admits, shrugging. “Though I took a sledgehammer to her, so she’s not there anymore to cause a fuss.” 

“A  _ what?”  _

“Sledgehammer,” Potter repeats, looking proud of himself. “All those enchantments holding her in place, broken down by a simple muggle tool. Muggles are always underestimated.”

Draco suspects they must be. It’s terrifying to think of Potter wielding such a thing as a sledgehammer. Whatever it is, he still isn’t entirely sure. 

“You speak and I’m never quite sure what you’re saying,” Draco says. 

Potter laughs. “So, what do you say? Want to go back to my place and watch a movie?”

_ This is a date, right? He’s asking me out on a date.  _

“How would we even get there?” 

“McGonagall has given me permission to floo there,” Potter says simply. As if everyone has these privileges. 

“The Headmistress gave you… you know what? Never mind. Why am I even surprised at this? Of course you’d have floo privileges. That doesn’t mean I do.” 

“Yes you do. I’ve already asked if you could go. I explained that it was for the play. So you could get into character better. It’s all cleared.”

Draco starts at the fact that the Headmistress has allowed him to leave castle grounds. At the beginning of term, Draco had been called to her office and basically told that if he stepped one foot out of line, his education would be over. That there had been many reservations from parents and the board alike over a former Death Eater returning to Hogwarts after the war. McGonagall had fought hard for him, she said, so the least he could do would be to keep on the straight and narrow, according to her. 

So isn’t this straying? 

Trusting a Death Eater off school grounds isn’t what Draco would consider good judgement. 

“Oh,” Potter chides. “Don’t get that look on your face! I can tell what you’re thinking. It’s etched in every single worry line.”

Draco frowns, and then worries about  _ that  _ causing worry lines. He can’t afford to disfigure his face with such things. 

“What look?”

“The whole—” Potter gestures wildly and Draco has to take a step back to avoid being smacked. “— _ ‘whoa is me! The former Death Eater who doesn’t deserve a second chance!’  _ You wear that look often, but you don’t need it now. Honestly, all we’re going to do is watch a movie. It’s not like I’m asking you to commit a crime with me.”

Draco would almost rather commit a crime than have to watch a muggle film with Potter, but his record could not handle such a thing. He swallows acid at the fact that he knows what a film even is. Perhaps he is paying  _ too much  _ attention in Muggle Studies. 

Potter is waiting for a response and Draco is having almost too fun staring him down while he fidgets awkwardly. He’s afraid Draco is going to turn him down. 

He doesn’t realize Draco doesn’t have that ability. 

He doesn’t realize all the ways in which Draco is weak for him yet. 

Draco hopes he never does. 

“Fine,” he concedes after several long moments of watching Potter squirm. It does something wicked to him. “Let’s go.”

Potter’s whole face lights up. 

Draco has to look away.

* * *

“What the bloody hell have you done to this place?”

Draco looks around in horror at the shabby state of the old house of Black. He had never actually seen it personally, but his mother had often spoken of Christmas parties at her cousin’s house and the extravagant nature the house had been decked in. It had been handsome, from what she had told him. Coveted and cared for in its day.

But this...

This is nothing like what his mother had described to him growing up. 

It’s grim and bleak, the shadows of the house looking like they could swallow a person up if one simply stepped too close. The wallpaper and carpets had long been worn thin, and what once looked to be a grand chandelier is in shambles. 

“It used to be a lot worse,” Harry explains, sounding amused at Draco’s horrified state. Of course he is. The git. “It had been abandoned for years until...until Sirius moved back in it. He left it to me when he died.” 

Draco whirls around to look at Potter, nearly stumbling face first in a cobweb as he does. 

“You can’t be serious. You can’t possibly live here! It’s uninhabitable!” 

“It’s not so bad,” Potter says, shrugging. He throws his jacket down across a chair and gestures for Draco to follow him. “It’s just me. I inherited some other estates when I came of age, but I haven’t properly looked into them yet.” 

“Well, you should,” Draco tells him, keeping a close pace. “Anyone of them must be better than this. You deserve..”

Draco trails off, flabbergasted. What is it, exactly, that Potter deserves? What had he planned on saying?

Just a few short years ago, Draco would have been delighted to find out that Potter called such conditions a home. 

Now…

Now the idea causes an entirely different reaction in him.

Potter stops just before they enter the sitting room, turning to look at Draco as if he’s waiting for him to finish his sentence. As if he’s dying to know what Draco thinks he deserves when Draco himself doesn’t even know. 

Draco sighs. “More,” he says, trying his best to let the word explain everything he’s trying to encompass. It fails, he knows. “You deserve more than… this.”

He gestures at the cobwebs and the falling wallpaper, hoping that by  _ more  _ Potter knows he means he deserves everything. 

That he’s always deserved everything, and Draco is sorry he hasn’t noticed until now. 

He’s sorry his offer of friendship fell flat that first year because it didn’t have the right intention behind it. 

He’s sorry for all the years he’s tormented him after when he had just been jealous for his friendship.

He’s sorry for choosing the wrong side of the war, and putting this chasm of space between them with it. 

He’s sorry Potter has to live in this dark and dreary house when Potter himself is so bright, and Draco wants nothing more than to give him all the things he deserves. 

And most of all he’s sorry that he doesn’t have the right to do that for him.

Because when Draco says that Potter deserves more, he definitely deserves more than what Draco can provide for him.

He deserves more than Draco.

Potter smiles at him, and it’s far kinder than anything Draco deserves. 

“I’m content with what I have. I’m happy with what I have.”

* * *

Draco is sitting in the library during his free period the next day when a shadow falls over him. 

He knows by the sheer obnoxious length of the shadow who it belongs to. 

He sighs and looks up to find Weasley standing there, looking at him like he’s something extremely unimpressive. Draco returns the look with a more bored degree. 

“Can I help you?” Draco asks after a long moment where both boys are in a stare down. 

“Harry said the two of you went back to his place to watch that Muggle film,” Weasley says, cutting to the chase. 

It’s one of the things Draco has always been able to use against the other boy, the fact that he’s blunt. Draco never has to dig to find something that will bother Weasley. He's normally shouting it at Draco in one of their spats. He wears his emotions on his sleeve for everyone to see. 

It leaves him open for attack. 

Draco would tell him it’s considered a weakness, but he is beyond such things now.

“We did,” Draco confirms, dropping his eyes back down to his reading. 

Draco isn’t surprised Weasley has taken issue with his time spent with Potter. 

He is surprised that it’s taken this long, however.

Weasley drops his bag. The  _ thump  _ it makes is so soft, that Draco wonders if the boy even remembered his books for the day. He doesn’t voice this inquiry, though. He doesn’t want to open up unnecessary conversation when they’ve gone so long without fighting. 

Turning over a new leaf is dreadfully boring sometimes. 

“Listen,” Weasley starts, leaning on the back two legs of his chair. “It’s no secret that Harry has been...infatuated with you. And I say that with a severe lack of better term, mind you.”

Draco shuts his book, raising an eyebrow coolly. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Weasley snorts. “Oh, come on! Sixth year? When he followed you around constantly? Ring any bells?”

Draco remembers Potter’s obsession with him well during their sixth year. It nearly got him killed, if he recalls correctly. 

“I remember something of the sort, yes. What’s that got to do with us watching a dreadfully boring movie together yesterday?”

Dreadfully boring is putting it mildly. Draco didn’t think he could hate the part of Prince Charming anymore than he already did. That is until he saw the bloke projected onto Potter’s tellyvision. He had been worse than anything Draco could have imagined. He gave the type of performance worthy of a stale cracker. 

His one role had been that of an idiot. Honestly, what sort of man claims he loves a girl and then can’t figure out who she is without a glass shoe?

And don’t even get Draco started on the glass shoe. It’s saying something that it’s even too extravagant for him. 

He hadn’t even possessed the ability to charm anything. And his name is  _ Prince Charming.  _

What a fraud.

“I’m starting to become concerned that Harry’s infatuation has crossed over into...smitten territory.”

“Smitten territory?” Draco repeats with a laugh. “What are we, twelve? Is it that hard to say that your best mate might have a crush on me?”

“No — it’s not… Harry doesn’t  _ get  _ crushes. At least, he hasn’t really had the time for them lately. With...you know, saving the world and all.”

“He dated your sister,” Draco points out, hating that he has to do so. He doesn’t like thinking of Potter and the youngest Weasley together. It had burned him up in a way he didn’t understand at sixteen. “And he had a crush on that Ravenclaw. Everyone knew that.”

Why is he bringing up these girls? What good could it possibly do? 

Other than lowering his self-esteem. Which might actually do him some good. His mother has said it’s unusually high for someone his age. 

“Those were...not like this,” Weasley admits, dropping his chair down on all fours. “Not like this at all.”

Draco props his chin on his hand. “Continue.”

“Harry doesn’t focus on other people like he focuses on you. It’s like...it’s like he can’t see past you. He’s got tunnel vision or something. And now that you’re finally looking back at him the way that he wants, he’s gone a bit stupid.”

“Elaborate.”

Draco is enjoying this. Both the one word responses that disguise the conversation as something he finds boring, and the explanations Weasley is giving him because they absolutely are not boring. 

Draco is hanging onto every word with great focus. 

Potter is stupid for him. 

He’s made the boy even more of a dolt than he already was.

“He’s a pile of swoony mess!” Weasley cries, gesturing wildly. “He saw you in that stupid Prince Charming outfit and he lost it. And I’m afraid he’s going to get himself hurt.”

Potter saw him in his Prince Charming costume and swooned. 

This is interesting information. Interesting information indeed. 

“And how would he get himself hurt, exactly?”

Weasley fixes him with a look that would make a lesser man question if he were an idiot. 

Luckily, Draco is anything but a lesser man. 

“You don’t like him like that,” Weasley says. “Right?”

Draco blinks at Weasley. 

And then blinks again. 

And again.

“Right?” Weasley says again, his voice raising an octave.  _ “Right?” _

Draco doesn’t give him a proper answer. 

Instead, he stands and takes his leave. He hears the clattering of a chair a moment later and knows without looking that Weasley has fallen over. 

* * *

The night of the play comes sooner than Draco would like. 

He’s not ready for the entirety of the school to see him in his Prince Charming costume. He just knows he’s going to be on the front page of the  _ Prophet  _ come tomorrow morning. 

_ Former Death Eater Trades in His Dark Mark for a Pair of Tights,  _ the headline will read.

He’ll end up being a laughing stock. 

It would be just his luck too. After years of mockery and ridicule at everyone else’s expense, it’s what he deserves.

He turns, hoping he can find Granger and fake a stomach illness. He has to get out of here. 

“Good luck out there,” a voice behind him says. Draco whirls around to find Potter standing there in his ridiculous Fairy Godmother costume. 

It brings Draco to his senses. Potter is more likely to grace the front page than him. Except they’ll call him a triumph, claiming he’s got a career ahead of him in acting.

“Thanks,” Draco says, remembering his manners. “You too. What’s the Muggle saying Professor Welborn taught us? Break a foot?”

“A leg,” Potter corrects, laughing. His whole body shifts into his smile. Draco wills his features not to swoon. “Break a leg.”

“Right. Break a leg then. Or, in your case, maybe a wing.”

Potter spins a bit, the wings charmed to flutter as he does so.

“See you on stage,” Potter says, bidding him farewell as he goes to take his place.

The lights darken and Draco keeps his eyes focused on the glittering retreat of Potter’s makeshift wings.

He couldn’t tell Weasley this, but he doesn’t like the boy. 

He  _ adores  _ him. 

It’s a feeling he doesn’t quite know what to do with just yet.

_ “Once upon a time…”  _

Longbottom’s voice cuts through Draco’s thoughts, letting him know that he’s taken his place as narrator and they play is officially beginning. 

Wonderful. 

Luna is completing task after task for the Patil sisters who are anything but ugly as Draco scans the crowd for his mother. He spots her quickly, sitting near the front row, fanning herself with a program. He isn’t sure why it moves him so that she came. 

He knew that she would. 

He had been afraid of her expressing disappointment over her son having to partake in a Muggle play, but she had done nothing of the sort.

Rather, she had seemed delighted, especially at the prospect of being able to come to the school to watch. His father is still in house arrest, and Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to come. 

Secretly he is thankful. 

_ “Go, go, go!”  _ Granger suddenly appears, pushing Draco onto the stage where apparently the scene is set for Draco to display his unwant for a ball to his father. 

This will require very little acting. 

Draco tries to ignore the way the crowd hushes to complete silence as he comes into view. 

“Come in, come in,” Weasley, acting as his father beckons. Draco has to restrain an eye roll. He does so marvelously.

“You wished to speak with me, father?”

“Yes, yes. We’ve been meaning to have this conversation for a while now, my boy.” 

Weasley is taking his role far too seriously. 

“And what conversation is that?” 

“Why, the conversation of a wife, my dear boy!” 

Draco cringes at the word  _ wife _ , which is good because it’s in character apparently.

* * *

The rest of the play goes something like this. 

Draco, convinced he can bend the wills of space and time, attempts to press the fast forward button like the one one Potter’s tellyvision device. 

He refuses the concept of a ball as both Charming and himself.

His refusal is denied.

Cinderella agrees to trade a day of slavery for a chance to attend the ball no one really wants to go to, aside from her. 

She is a lamb amongst lions and is taken advantage of, of course. 

The sheer amount of chores not even the finest house elf could accomplish leaves her too tired to construct a dress. 

Therefore, she has her dress tailored by rodents, — logically — only to have it destroyed by her jealous sisters. 

Once weeping in her back garden, her Fairy Godmother appears, and Potter uses his actual magic to put her together a dress far more elaborate than what the night calls for, in Draco’s humble opinion.

Cinderella is now off to the ball, and this is where it gets tricky for Draco.

He’s supposed to be focusing on Lovegood. As Prince Charming, he’s supposed to be staring deeply into his Cinderella’s eyes as they twirl around the stage. 

The only problem is, no matter the angle Draco leads Lovegood, he keeps Potter in his sights. No matter how many times he reminds himself to gaze into Lovegood’s eyes, he can’t manage to take his eyes off of Potter. When he leads Lovegood away so that the crowd can see them talking and assume that their relationship is moving on the track it should, Draco leads her to the corner where Potter is standing. 

“Oh dear,” Lovegood says suddenly, her voice carrying through the crowd. “Look at the time. I’m afraid I really must go.”

“What?” Draco sputters, losing track of where they are in the play. Is it already time for Lovegood to flee? What is he supposed to do now? He can’t remember.

_ “Go after her!”  _ Potter hisses at him.  _ “Go! Grab her shoe!” _

Draco turns just in time to see Lovegood dramatically kicking her shoe off in a way Granger has corrected her not to do several times. 

“No — wait. Don’t,” Draco deadpans, managing to cross the stage enough to grab the shoe. He’s supposed to chase after her. He knows he’s meant to go after Lovegood. 

But when he turns to see Potter staring at him off stage, head tilted adorably, his feet begin to move in the opposite direction. Quickly, much quicker than he’s gone after Lovegood in any of the rehearsals, he runs to Potter, unsure what he’s doing until he’s in front of him. 

“What’s wrong —“ Potter starts, but he’s cut off when Draco collides with him, sending them both nearly tumbling backwards. 

It’s only for Potter’s constant need to hold things steady that they manage to stay upright, Potter’s back slamming against the stone wall as Draco kisses him with everything that he’s worth. 

This kiss had been a rash, rather stupid impulse, but that is what Potter is. It’s the way he should be kissed. And based on the content humming sound he makes against Draco’s lips, Potter agrees with the concept. 

Draco leans in more, arms intertwined around Potter’s neck as the kiss deepens. They're so tightly wound around the other that neither of them notice when Potter reaches for something else to steady himself, and ends up grabbing the curtain. 

He pulls it down completely for everyone to see.

Draco isn’t sure what he registers first as they pull away in shock. The flashing of the camera lights, or Granger’s exasperated cry ringing through the chaos.

_ “You’ve got to be kidding me!” _

* * *

It’s a week later when Draco can be found in the eighth year common room, pouring over his homework in front of the fireplace as he chews on the tip of his quill. 

“Hey,” Potter says, dropping down in the chair behind him and leaning forward to look over Draco’s shoulder. “What are you working on.”

“It’s nothing,” Draco says, sighing. He furrows his brow at the question he’s stuck on. 

How on earth is he supposed to know what the function of a rubber duck is? He doesn’t even know ducks could  _ be  _ rubber.

“Is that the extra credit for Muggle Studies?” Potter questions. “Are you trying to get your grade up?” 

“Considering the fact that I am the reason the play was ruined, yes. Even with this though, I will be lucky to scrape by with a passing grade.”

“I guess… I guess I just didn’t think you found it all that important.”

“Truthfully, I do not.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Potter asks. 

“It may not be important for wanting to become a Healer,” Draco mumbles, embarrassed. “But it might be for wanting to become...something else.”

Potter blinks, thick as ever. “What?”

“Please don’t make me say it,” Draco pleads. “I know you’re oblivious, but you can’t be that bad when it comes to this.”

Potter shakes his head, and Draco wonders not for the first time how he could have possibly fallen for someone so thick. 

“Boyfriend,” Draco says the word. It’s the first time he’s said it. He is not used to it yet. “Knowing these things seem important for being your boyfriend. It means understanding you better. It means that when we leave here, if you wish to keep a foot in the Muggle world, I will not be so lost.”

Draco watches as Potter’s features soften to the point where he looks like he may cry. Draco isn’t at the point in the relationship yet where he’s ready to deal with that. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this just for me,” Potter says. 

“Yes, well, neither can I some days,” Draco admits, turning back to his assignment. “Now, unless you have something important to tell me, I really need to get back to work.”

“Oh, right.” Potter opens his bag, fishing around for something. He pulls out a picture frame, handing it to Draco. “Thought you might like this. I certainly did.”

  
Draco stares down at the frame, trying very hard not to dissolve into a fit of laughter. For there in his hands, cut out from the front pages of the beginning of the week’s  _ Prophet,  _ is a picture of the Fairy Godmother and Prince Charming kissing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to comment!


End file.
